


Where No Line Exists

by Lillian_Sunshine



Category: Historical RPF, Lewis and Clark
Genre: Depression, M/M, mentions of self harm, ok so some triggers to be aware of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-09
Updated: 2018-04-09
Packaged: 2019-04-20 20:29:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14268924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lillian_Sunshine/pseuds/Lillian_Sunshine
Summary: Ok so this is markedly different than my usual fic style. This is a modern high school au where Lewis and Clark have been dating for years. It's a story about (what else?) Lewis' depression and Clark coming to grips about it. It's subject matter is rather heavy and you should be careful if you have a history of depression although I swear in terms of endings it's 100% the most sappy, happiest fic I've ever written (but considering most of my fics center around the detioration of Meriwether Lewis, don't be expecting a marriage and a honeymoon).





	Where No Line Exists

Lewis tells me that his father died in the middle of a thunderstorm. Or rather, that’s when his mother received the call. Who knows what the weather was like in Iraq. It’s one of his earliest memories, the wind wailing outside, the rain beating down on the windowpanes, and his mother crying at the kitchen table. 

I envy him that. It must be nice to have a warning. Perhaps it’s because I’m not paying enough attention, or perhaps it’s because I’m not important enough for the universe to pay any attention to, but the blackest things always seem to happen to me on the most normal of days.

We got back late that day after spending the week in Kentucky for my grandmother’s birthday. It was lovely to see family but I did find it rather hard to know that my spring break with Lewis was wasted. Especially since Lucy and her husband had decided to go on a romantic getaway. We could have done any  _ manner  _ of things in that house.  _ They’re not getting back until tomorrow afternoon. There’s still time.  _ I consoled myself.

But before tomorrow could happen tonight had to end. I stared at the paper in front of me. Things couldn’t continue as they were if I wanted to pass English.  _ Othello, _ I thought tapping my pen against the paper.  _ Literary devices pertaining to the themes of Othello.  _ Jesus what an awful play. Poor Desdemona. Now  _ Macbeth,  _ that’s a Shakespeare I could get behind. Everyone got justice.

I sighed and wrote my name. Themes. _ Don’t marry a jealous asshole that doesn’t know how to trust you if you don’t want to get murdered.  _ It made me smile to think of my straightlaced English teacher’s face reading THAT thesis statement. I know what Ms. McNeer wanted me to write. Something about manipulation and prejudice or the poetic resonance of Othello the cool calm and collected Moor losing his mind by the end of the play. It’s bullshit. Such bullshit. Nobody seemed to realize that the most cunning machinations of Iago wouldn’t have worked if Othello had just trusted his wife. And the innocent paid for it. 

I knew that the essay I wanted to write would fail. Which meant I was going to have to bang out something generic because I desperately needed a grade in the 80s. I stared out the window fighting the urge to put it off. I needed to do this tonight so Lewis could go over it with me tomorrow. And if Lewis didn’t go over it there really was no hope.

I’ll always wonder if I brought on what happened next, if some karmatic demon wasn’t waiting in the wings ready to fuck with me. I remember it so clearly, wishing, praying for anything, anything at all that would give me an excuse not to do the assignment. And then my cell phone rang. It was an unidentified caller, which I usually let go to voicemail but that night I picked up after the first ring.

“George Clark’s little brother?” I paused. The voice sounded familiar, I just couldn’t place it.

“Yes this is Bill.”

“Hi, this is Pierre Gibault? Do you remember me?”

I blinked. Pierre Gibault? I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen him. “Um, yeah, George’s friend right?” I glanced at my phone. It was 11:30 at night. What was he doing calling me at all? “So, um, how can I help you?”

“Yeah so, this could get awkward but I found your number on his phone, are you still dating that Lewis kid?”

‘Found your number on his phone’. I didn’t like the sound of that. “Meriwether? Yeah, why?”

“Well I was just cutting through the park to get home after catching up with some old high school friends and this kid was walking real funny. He looked like he needed help so I started to talk to him. He was pretty wasted-”

“What no Lewis doesn’t-” my throat went dry.

“I was trying to get him talking but all he kept on saying was how everything would be fine as long as Bill didn’t find out.” He paused. “And I mean that’s when it hit me that he looked sort of familiar and I remembered seeing you two around when I would hang out at your place.”

“I, um, oh”

“I found your name in his contact list. I thought maybe it would be better if I called you first instead of his parents?”

“Sorry? Did you say he was drinking? Could I speak to him?”

“He passed out a little while ago. It’s how I got to his phone.”

“Passed out… passed out like drinking passed out?”

Pierre sounded sorry. “I don’t know who bought him the alcohol but he had a few cases of beer with him. A lot of it was empty. I think he was trying to finish before he got home.”

I ran my hands through my hair. I still didn’t really understand what he was saying. “Right. Right. Drinking. Okay got it.” We were both silent. “So you said you were at the park?”

“Yeah at the edge, by Elm Street.”

“Great, yeah, perfect I’ll come by.”

“Ok,” He sounded wary, “but you be careful you hear?”

“Careful? Mmmhmm right sure will be, I’ll see you soon.” He was still talking, but I hung up. 

***

If I’m perfectly honest I don’t remember the next 20 minutes. I must’ve gotten the keys to my mother’s car. I never got in trouble for it so I suppose I had the wherewithal to be quiet. I could’ve killed someone driving to the park; I wouldn’t know. Given the lack of dents on the car I can only assume I didn’t. I don’t know if I stopped at stop signs, I don’t know if I put the blinkers on, I don’t know how fast or how slow I was going. I remember hanging up the phone and then I remember the park.

I’ll never forget the park. 

“Bill?” Pierre said, standing up as I walked towards them. “It’s good to see you again.” I remembered that Pierre always did have an almost inborn air of professionalism about him.

The figure on the bench shifted. “Biiiillll?” Meriwether said looking straight at me. “Where’s Bill?”

It was a subtle sort of change, like ears popping on a plane but suddenly I was back. It was his eyes that did it. Or rather they weren’t  _ his _ eyes. His eyes were sharp and emotive and when they saw me they lit up. They most certainly didn’t look past me with a sort of glassy deadness.

The words drunk and Meriwether finally combined and I comprehended that that was in fact my boyfriend piss drunk, passed out on a public bench like some sort of friendless vagabond. 

Like he had no one to call.

My first instinct was to reach for my jacket, but when I went to pull it off I discovered I hadn’t bothered to put one on. I realized Pierre had given him his which I was profoundly grateful for. He barely knew Lewis and he hardly knew me. Hell he’d stopped hanging out with George pretty soon after George started drinking. “Thank you for, for everything.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“How long was he like this?”

“I met him maybe 45 minutes ago.” 

“Bill’s here?” Meriwether said again, growing agitated. He still didn’t know me. “Bill can’t be here.”

Something inside me cracked so hard I could hear it and I sat down where Pierre had been sitting, lifting Meriwether’s head up onto my lap. “Ok I’ll keep him out I promise.” I said, stroking his hair. I didn’t know what else to do. Pierre looked away. 

I stayed like that for a few minutes, trying not to think about my brother, and most certainly trying not to think about why Meriwether was here. If we were alone I would’ve stayed like that for longer. But we weren’t alone. There’s a look people get when you’re with someone who’s ugly drunk. Not just a look, a stance. The good ones like Pierre try to hide it but I can always tell. I’d had enough of it to tide me over til Doomsday.

I got up. “Alright baby I’m gonna get you out of here.” I whispered. 

Meriwether was rather slim and I never had a problem picking him up. Once after a football game I took him bridal style running across the field, screaming touchdown when we reached the endzone. I held him the same way now but he seemed heavier. Pierre hovered nervously as I made my way to my car like he expected me to give myself a hernia.

I had just started to look for someplace to lay Lewis down while I rummaged for my car keys when Pierre opened the driver’s side of the door and slid in. Turns out I had left the keys in the ignition. “You’re not in any condition to drive home.” Pierre said.

“You don’t live close to our house.”

“You’re the one that forgot a jacket. Are you even legal?”  
I wasn’t. I couldn’t get my license until November. As I climbed into the backseat with Lewis I realized I didn’t even have my permit with me.

I didn’t bother getting Lewis into a seatbelt and let him lay back on my lap.

“54 Martha right?” 

“For Lewis it’s 23 Locust. But yeah. Good memory.”

“George was a good friend. Back before-back in the day,” 

“You were good for him.” I said. “We all thought so.”

“I’m sorry we lost track of each other,” he said. I think he meant it, or at least meant it for the person my brother used to be. “He was going to UVA right?”

I laughed. I wasn’t going to lie to him. “Yes he was. But he got himself kicked out and now he’s at the prestigious Piedmont Virginia Community College.”

Pierre didn’t know what to say. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.” I said shrugging. “He did it to himself. You wanted William and Mary right?”

“Yeah. Economics. We’re off on break.”

“Well good,” I said “The world needs a lot more people who do what they say they will.”

“I- um,”

“Look man you looked after my boyfriend and were nice enough to call me instead of his parents. You don’t have to make conversation too. It can just be awkward.”

“Ok.”

***

Pierre parked my car in the driveway and helped me get Lewis inside. I knew where the spare key was. 

“Where’s his parents?” Pierre said standing in kitchen. 

“They’re away, coming back tomorrow. But it’s alright I’ll look after him tonight.”

“Oh okay.” He looked so out of place standing there, it was rather funny in a dark way.

“You’ve never done this before have you?” I asked. Lewis was on the couch, currently dead to the world.

“Excuse me?”

“Gotten someone home. You’re somebody whose whole family walked the straight and narrow.” 

He scratched the back of his neck. “Yeah I guess we do”

“I’m glad.” I could almost see myself in his eyes but there was something more, some quality I knew I no longer had. I wanted it. How lovely, to be able to make sure somebody was safe and then go back to college. “But doubly, thanks.”

He did a sort of awkward bowing thing with his head. “So um, my jacket’s back in the car?” 

“Yeah, I think it’s unlocked.” 

“Cool.” He turned to leave but stopped with his hand on the doorknob. “Hey listen, your brother was really brilliant you know that? He was a star on the Model UN team, he was so good at math, and he was always so personable.”

“Yeah,” I said gulping, “He always was the one going places.”

“And I’m sorry,” he said, head turned towards me so I could just see the silhouette of his face. “I should have tried harder to bring him back.”

I looked at my Meriwether. “Nobody saw it coming.”

“Jesus, this doesn’t feel right,” Pierre said turning around to face me fully. “Look at you, you’re a kid!”

I took a few steps back. “I can’t handle this right now!” I said, struggling to hide how my voice hitched. “I need to take care of my boyfriend and I can’t handle your guilt!” He froze. “If you don’t absolutely love someone, when they fall off the map you run,” I said fiercely. “You run and you don’t look back and you certainly don’t feel bad about it!”

He ran, turning wordlessly and disappearing out the front door. I exhaled and tried to fight off the sobs.

“Fuck you Meriwether Lewis really,” I said glaring at him. “How could you do this to me.” It was rather shocking how angry I felt. There was this twisted thing, starting from chest and stretching up out of my mouth, down through my arms, my legs, writhing like some sort of tentacled sea monster and I just wanted to  _ hit  _ him. Over and over until I saw blood. God I didn’t want to  _ do  _ this again. I slammed my fist on the kitchen table. “Fuck!” Faster, harder. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! FUCK! 

Jane was still at college and I suppose Lucy pawned Reuben off on a friend. Lucky thing too, because I really don’t know how I would have handled myself if I had to deal with a preteen brother. 

The whole house filled with silence. And then I heard stirring and I looked up to see Meriwether propping himself up on his elbows, staring at me. “Bill?” he said, and I knew from the dread in his voice that he knew who I was.

“No.” I said. “Don’t worry. Bill’s not here, you’ve just had a little too much to drink that’s all. You’re seeing things.” I tried to speak with the most casual confidence I could muster, like a vision on some sort of serial drama would act.  _ I’m not Bill, Meriwether I’m you.  _ Hah. I wish. “Come on. It’s still rather late why don’t we get you to bed?” I had confused him enough that he was quiet as we made our way up the stairs. He was walking a bit better now, right arm on the bannister, left arm around my neck. I put my arm around his waist so he wouldn’t fall back and he shuffled up the stairs like somebody whose feet were asleep. 

“Are you like… an angel?” he said wondrously as I rummaged through his drawers for a shirt. 

“Certainly not.” I said, pulling out a white tee. “Arms up.” He obeyed me with a sort of dazed subservience. I didn’t like it at all. I pulled off his shirt. My hands clenched the tshirt tightly and I thought I might just stop breathing. All around his shoulders and upper arms were little lines, some red,some white. “Hey Meriwether,” I said softly, cold spikes running up and down my body. “What are those?”

“It helps.” he said evasively and I put the t-shirt on so I didn’t have to look at it any longer.

“Legs up,” I said, yanking off his sneakers. I grabbed some sleep pants Lewis had bought at a football fundraiser. I looked him up and down. “Sweatpants Lewis, what are you trying to do, shock me to death?”

He seemed to want to put on the pants himself so I let him, guiding his feet into the proper holes when his coordination failed him. 

“Alright!” I said with a false cheeriness I learned from my mother. “You’re all ready to go.”

He grabbed my shoulders, and stared at me with wide eyes. “It’s really you, isn’t it?”

“Meriwether baby, just go to sleep,” My mouth did it’s duty but my eyes failed me and so I had the pleasure of seeing my love’s face crumble in front of me. 

“I’m sorry,” he wailed, and I wrapped my arms around him pressing his head into my shoulder. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“Shhhhh,” I whispered, rocking him back and forth. “Shhhh.”

I leaned back and laid us both down. It didn’t take too long for Lewis to cry himself to sleep and I was left, staring up at the ceiling, wondering when the hell everything had gone wrong.

***

For a few blissful seconds there was only pain and I didn’t remember anything. My head felt like it was the middle of a Newton’s Cradle, getting slammed on both sides. I let out a hiss when I opened my eyes, the light severely disagreeing with me. Whatever had happened last night I was most certainly not sober for it. God, what had happened last night? I didn’t remember getting home. The last thing I remembered from yesterday was…  _ No. _

But when I looked he was there, hunched over my desk chair with his face in his hands.  _ Oh God No. _ He must have heard me prop myself up because slowly, very slowly he lifted his head and looked at me.

Would that I had died rather than ever see my Bill look at me like that. His eyes were red. The knowledge, the hurt in his eyes just made me want to shrink because fuck that’s who I was right? A roach who runs? But of course I couldn’t do that so instead I waited, waited for the blame, the accusations, the tears. 

“Hey Meriwether,” Bill said.

“Hey,” I replied softly.

“Feeling alright?” Although his tone was the sort of crisp that pulls at you I scoured his voice for sarcasm or malice and I found none. It didn’t exactly make me feel better.

“Yup, just fine,” I didn’t know what else to say.

Bill laughed like he was choking and reached down to give me some Advil and orange juice. “Apparently you’re supposed to take it with something other than water if you want it to go easy on your stomach.”

“Thanks.” I said, downing the Advil. He nodded and looked away. I suppose I wasn’t much to look at. “Won’t you get in trouble with your parents for taking the car?” I asked, desperate for any sort of delay.

“I drove it back after you were asleep and biked here,” he said. “I left a note saying that I had gone over to your house, figured since they sleep late on Sundays they’ll assume I wrote it at a more reasonable hour.”

“Smart.”

Bill straightened his back and squared his shoulders like he always did when he was getting ready to tackle something and a wave of sheer terror ripped through me. I might have bolted except my head couldn’t tolerate movement. “So Meriwether,” Bill said, “How long have you been getting drunk alone?”

There was no give in his eyes. “Just a few months. Odd days here and there since after the party.”

“So that  _ was _ your first time getting drunk.”

“Of course it was.”

“Well I just thought I’d ask. Might have been sometime before I didn’t know about.”

“Bill…”

“Oh don’t you  _ dare  _ ‘Bill’ me,” Bill said with a dangerous edge. “You were on a park bench, I’m not sure if you  _ recall _ , but a Good Samaritan made sure you were okay until I got there. You could’ve been robbed, beaten, maybe even killed and I wouldn’t have been there!” His voice was thick. “I wouldn’t have even known you were in trouble.”

“I’m sorry.” The inadequacy of the statement left a bitter taste in my mouth.

“Damnit Meriwether I don’t want sorry I want to know why!” I recoiled as much as one could against a stack of pillows and he modulated his voice. “I mean, I know things aren’t easy for you. I know you get anxious. I just, I just-” All the bite left his gaze and he just looked tired. “I guess I thought if things got this bad I’d hear about it from you.”

“I didn’t want to be your burden.” I said. “I don’t want to be your burden. And I know how hard things have been with your brother lately.”

“This is a thousand times harder, so don't give me that ‘you were just doing what's best for me’ crap. At least my brother talks to me.” 

“Well maybe I just didn’t want this to happen.” I said gesturing around. “Maybe I just didn’t want you to know. Maybe I didn’t want you to think less of me.”

“You are my boyfriend!” Bill got up from the chair and moved to sit on my bed. The indentation of the mattress sent a fresh wave of pain through my head but the way he gripped my hand made me forget. He was holding onto me. I hadn’t made him let go. “I love you like I love no one else in the entire world. Did you kill anyone?” I stared at him. “Hmmm? Did you steal from a blind man? Did you cheat? Did you lie? Answer me Meriwether!”

I tried to look away from him but Bill put his hand on my cheek so I couldn’t. “No.” 

“Then why would I think less of you?” He leaned over me and kissed my forehead, placing his hands in my hair, with such gentleness I had no choice but to believe him. I didn’t understand him, but I believed him. “If you’re hurting I need to know, because there’s no line in between where your hurt begins and my hurt ends do you understand?”

The earnestness in his face floored me and I started to cry. I didn’t want to imagine Bill with all my hurt, I could go a million years without thinking about him alone in his room feeling the way I did sometimes. 

“You don’t want it trust me.”

“I want you.” 

I bit my tongue and didn’t ask why. That was probably a mistake. I probably should have explained to him all the reasons why he shouldn’t. It would have been better for him. 

“Listen Meriwether, I, I saw the scars when I was getting you into fresh clothes last night.” Bill said quietly. 

“Ok.”

“I googled it.”

“Ok.”

“It’s called self-harm. Apparently there are 2 million cases of it per year in the US.”

“Ok.”

“So… I was reading some people’s stories but what I really wanted to know is why you do it.”

I looked at the empty glass of orange juice and desperately wished it was whiskey. “Water?” Bill asked, producing a bottle from nowhere. 

“Thanks,” I said.  _ Vodka will do _ . Vodka laced with cyanide perhaps, so I would never have to face Bill asking me that question. I took a long, long drink. “I don’t know why I do it.”

“What?” 

“I said I don’t know why I do these things, I just know that it helps.” For some reason saying that makes me less afraid and I’m able to look at him.

“How can you  _ hurt _ yourself and not know the reason?” I’m grateful for the way he looked at me. I’m grateful that he didn’t understand. 

“You wanted to know why cut, why I go out and get drunk on cheap beer, what I’m hurting about?” I laughed. “I have no FUCKING IDEA BILL.”

I’m sure the dread in his eyes was identical to mine at the beginning of all of this, but he let me continue. “I mean I suppose I do know why I drink. I know why I cut. I stop thinking.”

“What do you think about?”

“God Bill that’s the million dollar question. Worries a lot. Worries a whole lot. About me, about whether or not I’ll be anything, about whether or not I’m disappointing my mom, about you and whether you really love me.” His face scrunched up a bit but I didn’t let him respond. “Believe me Bill it’s not something you did. These are just the ones I can name. Sometimes I just feel dread. And despair, although it’s not the sort of despair that makes you want to lie down and never get up. My mind never just wants me to sit still. It’s constantly telling me to go, to run, to do something to get myself out of the messes I’m in but it never lets me know what that is so I’m just left like a wasp in a jar, slamming itself against the sides. Everything I do is so I can just exist without tearing myself to pieces.” I hadn’t said that to anyone before. I’m not entirely sure I had ever thought it. “But when it comes to why I feel these things I have no idea. There’s a cause right? There has to be. An abusive parent, a death? A huge problem?” I started to laugh. “If I had the actual problems that you have Bill I have no idea what I’d do.”

That earned me a wane smile. “There doesn’t seem to be any dearth for you.”

“But when I look at my life I see nothing. My father died? If it weren’t for pictures I wouldn’t remember what he looked like. John Marks treats me well. I have wonderful people in my life. I have a boyfriend that dropped everything to make sure I got home alright. I don’t know Bill. I’ve thought about it and I’ve thought about it and the only thing I can say is that there’s something wrong with me. That’s the only answer I can give you.” 

He looked down at his shoes for a moment, mulling it over. When he looked up at me his expression was, well it certainly wasn’t happy but it wasn’t upset. His eyes were the same, if not a little sadder. “Okay.” he said, nodding his head slowly. “Okay.”

“Really?” I said, searching for a catch, waiting for the anger or disgust. “Just like that?”

“God no ‘just like that,’” Bill said taking a deep breath. “This,” he said, spreading his arms around the room, “Is not okay. I’m not going to stand by while you get shitfaced. I’m not going to stand by knowing that it’s less painful for you to cut yourself than wait for your mind to do it for you. I simply won’t do that.” He grabbed both my hands and leaned in to kiss me. On the lips. I must have tasted horrible, but he didn’t show it. “I just mean that it’s okay you’re not.” He climbed into the bed with me, sliding under the covers and pulling me close. His tone of voice was nothing short of miraculous, he sounded bright. He sounded like he was planning for the future. Our future. “I don’t feel the things you feel Meriwether,” Bill said. “I don’t know if I ever will. But I know millions and millions of people do. I know it doesn’t make you inherently wrong. It just makes you you and I’d never want you in halves.”

I wrapped my arms around his waist and nestled my head into his chest. “I could never ever have enough of you,” I said and he pulled me in tighter. “But how can you say that, you of all people? How can you look at yourself and then look at me and see nothing missing?”

“I see you in nature,” he said with a simple conviction. “And do you know no matter where we go and visit and what we see you awe me the most. You look different, you walk different, even your voice changes. You belong there, in a way I never will.” He chuckled. “The stuff we’ve walked away from, it’s all because of you.” He looked down at me. “I never thought about what it was like for you to be back here. But now that I am it all makes sense. The same thing that makes you free out there traps you in here. It’s connected.”

“I would rather be like you.” I said, meaning every word. “I would be happy to stay in a nutshell for the rest of my life if I could only be like you.” He didn’t try to tell me I was wrong. He just held me.

“Somethings can’t be changed,” Bill said. “But somethings can be helped. It isn’t the 19th century anymore. Treatments exist. Maybe you should see someone. People come out of depressions.”

I shuddered. “My mother doesn’t deserve to go through that.”

“She’ll find out Meriwether. Trust me I’ve seen first hand how mothers always find out. Would you rather it be through a calm kitchen table conversation?” He gave me a pointed look. “Or do you want her to find out like I did?”

I tried to imagine finding Bill passed out on a park bench. I couldn’t. “You didn’t deserve that.”

“No I didn’t,” Bill said, giving me a sideways look and grudging smile. “But I forgive you. Just please, please don’t do it to your family.”

His hope was infectious, and I wondered if he wasn’t right. “If I tell her,” I said, looking at him anxiously, “Will you be by my side?”

He got a glint in his eyes and for a good minute I let him pin me on top of the sheets, let him do what he would. “As much as you’ll let me,” he promised.

It was a few hours until my parents got home and we didn’t waste them.


End file.
